


Tattoo

by hopelesslybenaddicted



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Overly dramatic Chevy, Overly romantic Philippe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 00:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslybenaddicted/pseuds/hopelesslybenaddicted
Summary: Chevy insists that he's getting a tattoo. Philippe doesn't think he'll go through with it.





	Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a twitter conversation with @scribblemoose :)

“ _ You _ want to get a  _ tattoo _ ? Of  _ what _ ?” Philippe demanded.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something delicate. Or maybe something incredibly masculine. Hadn’t quite got that far in the planning process, you know,” said Chevy, waving his hand to dismiss what he apparently thought of as an unimportant question. He was draped across the sitting room sofa, casually touching up his manicure, as Philippe stared at him disbelievingly from the kitchen table.

“Right, obviously. Why worry about a silly trifle like  _ what _ you’ll have permanently displayed on your body?”

“Exactly! The important thing is that I’ve decided I want to do it. The rest of the details will fall into place, as they always do,” Chevy said, nodding his head as though this statement was the height of reason and logic. He extended his arms and inspected his nails from a distance, then tsked at them. “And darling, I simply must make an appointment to have this redone. I can’t be seen with my hands in this state!” He turned his hands so that Philippe could see, an expression of utter distress on his face.

“They look fine to me,” Philippe said, barely glancing at them. Chevy opened his mouth to protest, but Philippe cut him off. “But if you want an appointment, you’ve got a phone. Call them and make one.”

Chevy crossed his arms and frowned. “You know, I would have thought you’d appreciate all the effort it takes to make myself beautiful for you. It’s not easy to keep myself looking like this!” He gestured at his hair, then down to his embroidered robe and slippered feet.

Philippe snorted. “All that effort is  _ not _ for me, and you know it,” he said. It was meant to be playful, but Chevy huffed and pulled his feet down from the sofa, turning to face the balcony window and away from Philippe, who rolled his eyes and smiled. He was fairly certain Chevy just wanted his attention and that he wasn’t actually upset, but better to be safe… And anyway, a little attention might be fun. He stood and crossed the room, sat on the sofa, and reached out to pull Chevy’s long hair back from his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Chevy’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

“Chev. You know you’re beautiful to me, always. No amount of expensive appointments or clothes or...  _ tattoos  _ could change the way I see you.” He kissed Chevy behind his ear, then down his neck to the curve where it met his shoulder. Chevy relaxed, leaning back into Philippe, and sighed contentedly. He stroked Philippe’s arms, grazing them with the offending manicure, as Philippe nipped at his ear, making him shiver. He turned his head to kiss Philippe, long and deep, and Philippe’s hand trailed up from his waist and under the robe, finding warm skin beneath, and soon they were tangled in each other on the sofa, all talk of tattoos and manicures forgotten for quite some time.

 

Later that night, Chevy was propped up against his pillows in bed, scrolling through a website full of tattoo ideas for men as Philippe got himself ready for bed.

“You realize it actually  _ hurts  _ to get a tattoo, right?” Philippe asked from the bathroom doorway, his toothbrush in hand. “Like, they use needles. To puncture your skin. Repeatedly.”

Chevy didn’t pause in his scrolling. “Yes, my love, I’m aware of how tattoos work, but thank you. Are you implying I’m not strong enough to take a little pain? You of all people should know better than that,” he said, smirking to himself.

Philippe spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth. “You think a bit of playful biting and spanking proves you can handle a tattoo?” he said, eyebrows raised, as he made his way over to the bed and pulled back the duvet. “They’re not even remotely in the same ballpark.” He crawled into bed and ignored Chevy’s indignant face, choosing instead to glance at his phone.

“What the - ?” He grabbed at the phone; Chevy attempted to pull it away, but he wasn’t quick enough. Philippe took it and scrolled the screen up to see what Chevy had been contemplating. “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to scroll through photos of other half-naked men while in our bed? Why is it nothing but pecs and abs in these photos? Doesn’t anyone have a tattoo on their  _ shoulder  _ or something?”

“Ah, mignonnette, I love it when you get jealous,” Chevy said in his most syrupy voice. 

“I’m not  _ jealous _ , don’t be ridiculous,” he protested, handing the phone back rather forcefully. He turned onto his side, facing away from Chevy, and pulled the duvet up to his chin. “Goodnight.”

Chevy chuckled and turned off the bedside lamp. “Of course you’re not, love. Goodnight.”

 

“I’m thinking I’ll get a star,” Chevy said, several days later. They were enjoying a lovely brunch on a terrasse overlooking the river. Philippe furrowed his brow as he swallowed a bite of his frittata.

“You mean like, on the star registry? Whatever for?” Philippe asked.

“The star registry? Don’t be silly. I mean for my tattoo!” said Chevy. He took a sip of his mimosa. “I quite liked your shoulder idea, actually. I think a star would be lovely. And perhaps a moon. What do you think? Shoulder?”

“I think you’ll never actually  _ get  _ a tattoo, so there’s no point discussing it, if I’m honest. Have you ever even seen a tattoo parlour? I can’t imagine you setting foot in one. It’s not like your nail salons or hairdressers, with lots of silly women fawning all over you. They’re seedy and dark and full of large, intimidating, angry men.”

“And when have  _ you  _ ever been in a tattoo parlour? You’re just describing what you’ve seen in films and on television. I’m sure there are plenty of nice ones. Anyway, I  _ am  _ getting a tattoo, and the sooner you accept the idea the better. So what do you think? Just the star? Or the moon too?”

“Both, sure. Why not go for a whole galaxy, while you’re at it? Is there some kind of significance to this choice? A tattoo is supposed to mean something, after all.”

“They don’t  _ have  _ to mean something. But I’ve always felt that a star represents me quite well, wouldn’t you agree?”

One corner of Philippe’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Well, I certainly can’t argue with you there. Does that mean the moon represents me?”

Chevy popped a strawberry in his mouth and chewed it slowly, considering.

“It could do, I suppose. It’s just…” he hesitated.

“Hmm?” Philippe prompted.

“Well, a tattoo is fairly permanent. If I got one to represent you and then you left me someday, I may just have to amputate my arm! I couldn’t live with a reminder of you on my skin if I couldn’t hold you and touch you and taste you every day.” He brought his hand to his mouth to chew his thumbnail, his brow furrowed in concern.

Philippe reached across the table to take Chevy’s hand away from his mouth.

“Chev, don’t. Your manicure, remember?” He lowered their hands to the table, where he held Chevy’s hand in his, stroking his knuckles with his thumb. “Listen. I’m not going to leave you. Not ever. This is permanent, at least as far as I’m concerned. From the day we met, I knew I’d never want to be without you again. That won’t change. If you want a tattoo, I’m not going to stop you. You should do what makes you happy. But please, never worry that you’ll lose my affection.”

Chevy blinked several times, his eyes bright, and Philippe felt his heart swell with love. It crushed him to imagine that Chev was afraid of losing him. He swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to make Chevy lose that fear.

“A star and a moon it is, then,” Chevy said, grinning at him.

 

“What do you think of this one?” Chevy asked, tilting his laptop screen to show Philippe the tattoo parlour he’d found online.

“Anomaly? What kind of a name is that for a tattoo parlour?” said Philippe, reading the page. “Where is it?”

“An anomaly is something that deviates from what’s expected. Not a bad name for a tattoo parlour, then, I’d say. It’s right next to the Pompidou Center. And they’ve got good reviews. It looks nice enough in the photos.”

“You’re really going to do this? You’re sure?” said Philippe.

“Yes! Darling, why don’t you believe me? I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m getting a tattoo.”

“Hm. Why don’t I believe you? Tattoos  _ hurt _ . And they don’t just hurt while they’re being done. They hurt for days after. Maybe weeks. You are fabulous at a great number of things, love, but you don’t do well with pain. You cry when you break a nail -”

“Manicures are expensive and time-consuming! It’s not about -”

“Okay, when you stubbed your toe last month you practically made me carry you around the apartment for three days!”

“Oh my sweet mignonnette!” Chevy laughed. “You thought that was because of the pain? Maybe I just liked being looked after by a handsome young man, did that possibility cross your mind?” He winked, but Philippe set his jaw angrily.

“Right. And that time you cut yourself shaving and fainted at the sight of a few drops of your own blood? I suppose that was an act as well, was it?”

“A few drops?!” Chevy cried. “The whole sink was red! There was blood everywhere! It was like a battlefield!”

“There was only blood everywhere because you fell and bled on the floor, then panicked and rubbed your face on every towel in sight. And if you think that was bad, wait till you see how your tattoo bleeds and scabs!”

Chevy huffed. “I thought you said you wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to do this,” he said quietly, not looking at Philippe.

Philippe took a deep breath. “I’m not  _ trying  _ to stop you, love. I just don’t want you to be surprised. I don’t like seeing you hurt. I want to be sure you know what you’re getting into with this,” he said.

Chevy smiled weakly.

“And I don’t want to listen to all of your wailing and moaning without being able to say ‘I told you so,’” he added.

Chevy picked up a pillow from the sofa and hit him with it.

 

On the day of his appointment, Philippe went with him to the tattoo parlour. They found it with no problem, and it was quite clean and bright inside. The artist explained the process in detail, and Chevy’s face turned slightly pale, but he nodded through it all. They agreed on a design and completed the necessary paperwork. Philippe paid, because of course he did, and Chevy thanked him with a little kiss. The artist took them back to a private room, where Chevy stretched out on the reclining chair and Philippe took a seat by his side. Chevy reached out his hand, and Philippe took it in both of his, kissing each of his knuckles softly as the artist prepared Chevy’s skin, first with rubbing alcohol, then with a razor, then more alcohol. As the artist applied the stencil, Chevy’s hands began to shake a bit, but he gave Philippe a brave smile and insisted he was fine. Ink caps prepared, the artist unwrapped a needle. Chevy took one look at it and promptly slumped backward in the chair, unconscious.

 

Philippe was still smirking when they arrived home.

“Oh, stop it. Fine, you were right. I couldn’t handle it. Are you happy now?” Chevy pouted as he flung himself down on the sofa.

“I’d be happier if the artist had refunded all of my money instead of just half,” Philippe joked.

“Oh, ha ha, you’re terribly clever, aren’t you? ‘Let’s all laugh at Chevy, he’s a failure and a waste of money, how amusing!’”

“Chev, don’t be ridiculous,” Philippe said, softening. He sat down next to Chevy and took his hand. “No amount of money I’ve ever spent on you has been wasted. And you’re not a failure. You’re perfect and I love you.”

Chevy scoffed.

“I mean it! I love that you wanted symbols of us on your skin, forever. I love that you try things, even if they scare you. I love when you get in a strop and I get to coax you back out.”

“I am not in a strop,” said Chevy.

“Of course you’re not,” Philippe agreed. He pushed Chevy’s hair back behind his ear and leaned over to kiss his cheek. He took it as a good sign that Chev barely pulled away at all. “Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” Philippe said. He went to the bedroom for a moment and returned with a small box.

“What’s this?” Chevy asked, his curiosity overruling his need to continue pouting.

“Open it,” said Philippe, his voice warm and tender. Chevy took the box and gave Philippe a quizzical look, but Philippe just smiled and nodded his encouragement. “Go on,” he said.

Chevy opened the box and gasped. It was a necklace, the charm a beautiful silver moon with pavé diamonds, wrapped around a small gold star.

“Oh, Philippe,” Chevy whispered. He brought his fist to his mouth and inhaled deeply. His breath shuddered, and his eyes were suddenly full of tears. “It’s gorgeous,” he choked out, his voice little more than a sob.

“Hey,” Philippe said softly, kneeling in front of Chevy. He reached up and used his thumbs to wipe the hot tears from Chevy’s eyes. “Don’t cry, love. This is better than a silly tattoo anyway, don’t you think?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he said, sniffling a little. Philippe leaned forward to kiss him, and their lips were warm and soft and sweet and perfect together.

“Let me put it on you?” Philippe asked when the kiss broke.

“Of course! Please,” said Chevy, turning sideways on the sofa and pulling his long curls away from his neck. He shivered when the cold metal touched the smooth skin of his chest, and sighed happily when Philippe’s fingers softly brushed his neck to fasten the clasp. He sat up straight, lifting his chin to show off his new accessory. “How does it look?” he asked.

“Come and see for yourself,” said Philippe. He stood and took Chevy’s hand, leading him into the bedroom so that he stood facing the full length mirror with Philippe behind him. Chevy gasped again. He turned from side to side, admiring the necklace (and himself) from all angles. “Oh, my darling, it’s just glorious!” Chevy exclaimed.

Philippe wrapped his arms around Chevy and nuzzled at his neck. “You deserve it,” he murmured. “And so much more.”

“Mmm,” Chevy agreed, leaning into Philippe. “Hang on,” he said, cocking his head to one side and frowning. “You bought this before my appointment.”

“Guilty,” said Philippe.

“So you thought I wouldn’t go through with it!” Chevy demanded. He pulled away and spun to face Philippe, hands on his hips.

“Not necessarily! I could’ve given it to you in celebration of a successful tattoo experience!” Philippe protested.

Chevy raised his eyebrows skeptically. Philippe sighed.

“Okay. I thought you wouldn’t go through with it and that you might need some cheering up. Was I wrong?”

“Of course not. You’re never wrong. And I’m entirely too predictable,” said Chevy, rolling his eyes. He stomped toward the bed and plopped down, arms crossed at his waist.

Philippe stood facing him, bewildered, for several seconds. Then he started laughing. He laughed and laughed, until his face turned red and tears gathered in his eyes. Chevy was indignant at first, grunting his irritation, but soon he began to laugh as well, a little chuckle, followed by genuine laughter. Philippe walked over to the bed and took a few deep breaths to steady himself before speaking.

“You’re right. You’re entirely too predictable. And I love it,” he said, the smile still in his voice.

Chevy smiled back. “Thank you, mignonnette,” he said, touching the necklace. Philippe reached out to place his hand along Chevy’s jaw and neck, tilting his face gently upwards. He leaned in until their lips met, opening instantly to taste one another, tongues sliding together. Chevy moaned and pulled Philippe toward him as he pushed himself backward onto the bed. They tugged at each other’s clothes and tossed them aside until everything was in a heap on the floor, and the only thing Chevy wore was the necklace.


End file.
